Sherlock: The world's only consulting kid detective!
by Oliveoylxm
Summary: This is basically the show, but Sherlock is twelve, John is about 25 years old and Sherlock is the youngest and only world's consulting detective. Moriarty is the same age as he is in the show, but this story has a little more gore in it than the show, probably best not to read if you are faint of heart. Plus everyone likes kid!lock trolling others!
1. Chapter 1

The mirror room

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any other characters to the book or show

When John Watson was first viewing the flat of 221B baker street, he knew he was going to have a potential flat mate that he was going to share it with. But what surprised him the most, was the personality and state of which his potential flatmate was in. John had gone to 221B with the intention of meeting the landlady and to have a look at the apartment, which the elder lady had told him, with a rather curious smile, the his potential flatmate resided in. He had prepared to meet an older man, in which he thought had lived there, but instead met a small twelve year old boy with big grey and blue eyes who was seated at the counter in the kitchen, peering through a microscope. The small child had dark unruly curls that seemed surprisingly wind blown, a rather adorable cupids bow and was dressed in what John had assumed a causal suit attire. The boy's shirt was a deep but not dark purple and he wore black slacks and was topped off with shiny black shoes.

To say that John was utterly flabbergasted, would be one of many words to describe how incredibly blown away he was by the small typhoon that was Sherlock Holmes.

"You're a doctor."

John blinked, adjusting his hold on his cane.

"Um, yes," He cleared his throat, correcting himself ,"Yes I am."

Sherlock hummed, moving the petri dish around from underneath the microscope, John looked a Mrs. Hudson who smiled and placed a hand on his back.

"I'll let you two get to know each other," She looked at Sherlock, "Sherlock," She tutted "Behave won't you, try not to scare him off like the last one."

Worried and bewildered, John looked at Mrs. Hudson with a look of disbelief.

"Oh, don't you fret, dear, Sherlock's not that bad."

John didn't believe her as he turned to look back at Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson patted his back once more before turning towards the stairs.

"I'll be downstairs, I'll make you boys some tea."

John thanked her a bit numbly, he stood there for a moment, listening to her retreating footsteps, a bit reluctant to talk to the boy at the counter but, nevertheless, he pressured on.

"So, you live here by yourself?"

Sherlock froze in his fiddling with the microscope and looked up with a blank expression.

"Obviously."

He went back to fiddling with his microscope. John frowned, he adjusted his cane, he thought that the response that Sherlock had given was a bit rude. But, he brushed the thought off as Sherlock acting on his pubescent rage.

"How do you feel about the violin?"

John blinked again, a bit stupidly.

"Um, I guess I don't mind it, why?"

"I have a tendency not to eat or speak for days on end, and for doing excessive experiments would that bother you?"

"Um, I don't think they will, why are you telling me this?"

"Well," Sherlock looked up again, eyes gleaming with curiosity, "Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other before they move in yes?"

John balked.

"Well, I guess so but, how do you know I'll be moving in?"

Sherlock hummed before speaking, the words flowing out of his mouth at a rapid speed, like a current in the river.

"You're a doctor at a nearby hospital, you're looking for a cheap accommodations, and based on that thought I have concluded that you have just started doctoring and that your salary isn't that great, so a flatmate isn't a choice. The wrinkles on your shirt provide that you've have been folding your clothes, that you've been packing so you're eager to move out of the place in which you are currently living in. There is a stain on your shirt that is fairly fresh suggesting that someone had spilled coffee on you, but not on purpose but you dodged fairly quickly suggesting that you have good reaction timing, the person who spilled it was someone clumsy. Possibly the other flatmate you had seen earlier today, the business card for that apartment is clutched between your hand and cane, it had been forgotten, but you didn't want to seem rude so you kept it just in case. Your therapist thinks that your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. It's proven in the way that you stand, you walk like it hurts but you stand there like you've forgotten it, clearly psychosomatic. The tan lines on your face and hands prove that you've been abroad, out of London, and away from the city, you've experienced something horrible, so to get away from it you moved to London, but on your salary you can't keep affording the apartment you're now living in. My flat is the closest to your work which the nearest hospital is a mile away, not to mention that my flat resides in the center of London, so it's closest to shops and other things that you would like or need. And by the process of elimination the other flats were either too far or the flatmates were too nasty and uncoordinated. Yes?"

John was blown away once more.

"Yes, but h-how, how did you know that? All of that?"

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and grinned, going back to the petri dish.

"The art of deduction, simple really."

John, blinked rapidly, he couldn't understand how, this boy of only twelve years of age, had known where he had been, what he had done, and why he was looking for a flat, it wasn't confusing anymore on why the boy had his own flat anymore. John decided then and there, as Mrs. Hudson walked up the stairs, that he wouldn't mind this boy as his flatmate.

"Amazing," Sherlock whipped his head around to stare at John in a bit of disbelief, "Completely and utterly brilliant." John stated with a smile.

"Hoo, Hoo!"

Mrs. Hudson walked in with a smile, placing the cups of tea on the counter next to Sherlock and John.

"Here you are boys, nice cuppa's of tea."

Sherlock jumped down off the stool and grabbed the cup of tea from the counter as John thanked Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock spoke as he walked towards the living room:

"Thank you dearly for the cup of tea Mrs. Hudson, without you Baker street would fall."

"Oh, you!" Mrs. Hudson giggled, ruffling the boy's hair, "Stop being so cheeky! You'd fall apart not me!"

"Be that as it may, I'd still believe this building would no longer be the same without your endearing presence."

Mrs. Hudson sighed happily and looked to John, "There's a room upstairs if you'll be moving in."

John smiled, "Indeed, I'll be moving in first thing in the morning if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked up from the newspaper he was currently absorbed in.

"What? Oh yes, I don't mind, not at all." He threw the newspaper beside him with an over exaggerated huff. "Blasted! There is absolutely nothing to do!"

John couldn't help but laugh quietly, the little typhoon resembled his own age instead of the highly intelligent boy that was sitting in front of not only moments before.

"Sherlock, what about those three suicides, I thought that'd be right up your alley."

Suddenly from the outside, a police siren wailed, the red and blue flashing lights stopped in front of the house. Sherlock jumped eagerly up from his position, and put the cup of tea of the desk beside the window, he looked out with an excited expression. John was beyond confused.

"Four."

"What?" John asked.

"There's been a fourth!"

Sherlock quickly looked towards the stairs as detective Lestrade bursted through the door.

"Another? Where?"

Lestrade nodded, his eyes dark with frustration.

"None of the others left a note, this one did. At Lauriston Gardens. "

Sherlock kept his face blank as Lestrade told him the extra details.

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.

Lestrade swallowed.

"Anderson."

"Ugh! Anderson won't work with me."

"He won't be your assistant…" Lestrade asked desperately.

"But I need an assistant."

"That doesn't matter, will you come?"

"Not in a cop car, I'll be right behind you." Sherlock responded.

John was a little dumbfounded, Sherlock was going where? John stood where he was as Lestrade turned and stalked out of the flat in a hurry, as soon as the door down stairs closed Sherlock jumped onto the couch with a shout, fists being brought up on either side of his face as he bounced and twirled on the couch.

"Finally! After four victims and now a note! Oh! It's Christmas in my mind palace!"

He jumped off the couch with a grunt and ran towards his small black belstaff that sat on the chair besides the door and hurriedly pulled it on, rapidly speaking as he did.

"I'm going out Mrs. Hudson I'll be back late, I might need some food."

Mrs. Hudson tutted and shook her head.

"I am not your housekeeper."

"Something cold will do!" Sherlock called as he put his scarf on.

"Oh, Sherlock!"

John was confused, was this kid going to a bloody crime scene?! He looked outside, it was beginning to turn dark, a kid his age shouldn't be going out this late, but alas Sherlock was already rushing down the stairs.

"John! Make yourself at home!"

John looked around for a moment before looking at the stairs and limped/ran out after Sherlock, calling out:

"Thank you for the tea Mrs. Hudson! But I shall take my leave early!"

"Oh!" She called out in surprise. "Are you going with Sherlock?"

John stopped and grabbed the banister, looking up.

"Well, somebody ought to, don't ya think?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"Yes, you should go, I hope he doesn't cause too much ruckus."

John ran/limped towards the twelve year old who was calling for a taxi on the street.

"Oi! Where do you think you're headed?"

Sherlock looked at him incredulously.

"Crime scene, you?"

John blinked and leaned on his cane.

"I'm coming with you."

Sherlock let out a laugh.

"Oh really? Most people who try no longer like me or they tend to stay away."

"Yes, but you forget I'm a doctor, I've seen injuries and deaths."

"Hmmm. Why do you _really_ want to come with?"

"Because you're too young to be roaming the streets of London by yourself."

"I know the streets of London by heart, I could lose any pursuer if the problem may be, and I have people that I know all around the city." Sherlock argued back.

John sighed as he watched the boy try and hail a taxi, and after a few fails, John stepped up and waved to a taxi. As it drove up, John could feel Sherlock's eyes trained on him.

"I guess you _could_ be useful."

John smirked.

"What for? So I could hail your cabs?"

Sherlock snorted as they clambered in.

"No only that." He leaned towards the cabby, "Lauriston Gardens please." He turned to John.

"You're a doctor, just how good are you?"

The cab moved, spreading into the London traffic.

"I'm a pretty good one."

"So you've seen some gory deaths and injuries, yes?"

"Yes, a lot, actually from where I used to work, far too much."

Sherlock looked at him in curiosity.

"Do you wanna see some more?"

"Oh god yes."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock

It was raining and dark by the time they reached the crime scene.

But of course the ride there was _certainly_ entertaining, John had got to ask all the questions he wanted while Sherlock nonchalantly either answered the question or steered him away from it by asking another question. Sherlock never seemed to stop analyzing things, John found himself utterly amazed by this fact.

The little ball of energy quickly jumped out of the cab and yelled as he walked towards the crime scene.

"Come along now John!"

John shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and went to pay the driver, the man however refused and sent him a glare.

"The kid paid 'or it 'lready."

John glared back, gripping his cane tightly, he nodded a bit then shuffled his way out of the car.

"Alright, well I hope you have a nice night then sir." He replied bitterly.

The cabby scowled, then drove off after John shut the door. John then turned to make it towards the crime scene, limping a bit and leaning lightly on his cane. As he got closer to the crime scene however, he noticed that Sherlock seemed to be having an argument with one of the officers, a short middle aged women with bouncy curly hair who seemed to be annoyed with the boy.

John prayed that Sherlock hadn't pissed off anyone quite yet.

To his amusement, John only noticed how Sherlock kept a blank expression as the lady however seemed to get angrier, her hair poofing up a bit like an angry cat that had been thrown into the rain. Given the weather, John chuckled to himself at his own pun, this seemed to attract both Sherlock and the lady's attention.

"Ah, John, how nice of you to finally join us, I see that the cabby wasn't very nice now was he?"

"No, no he wasn't."

The lady began to speak up.

"Um, _excuse_ me but _who_ are _you_?"

John straightened up, looking between Sherlock and the officer.

"Doctor John Watson," He held out a hand, "And you are?"

She ignored the hand.

"Sergeant Donovan, are you Sherlock's friend? How did Sherlock even get a friend?!" She looked at John, "Did _he_ follow you home?"

John frowned, he believed this woman to be quite rude and was about to voice his argument before Sherlock cut him off.

"He's with me Donovan, now can we please continue now, Anderson is still contaminating the crime scene as we speak."

"And who said you were allowed here?"

"Lestrade asked me to come."

"Whatever for?"

"Oh I don't know-"Sherlock trailed off sarcastically, "Maybe because Scotland Yard is filled with such incompetent idiots such as Anderson, and they can't solve a case which is why they need a child to do their work? Or maybe he just wants my view on the crime scene whichever side would you prefer Donovan because no matter what side you are on it's still the same, now can we enter the crime scene, because now _you're_ wasting everyone's time."

John somehow was still incredibly amazed.

Donovan grew flustered and held up a walkie talkie, ushering John and Sherlock through the police tape.

"Freak's here, bringing him up."

John froze, oh no, oh, he didn't like that one bit.

He wheeled around to face Donovan, the anger from before slowly slipping onto his face as he did so. His grip on his cane was so tight, you could hear the rubber padding squeak as he did so.

" _Excuse me_ , but _I_ DO believe, that is no way to treat a child!Sherlock is a child and yet you speak of him in such a way, and you as an adult, should know better."

Donovan froze, staring at John with a hint of amusement, to john she looked like a smug little rat.

"Are you _serious_ right now?" She squeaked out, pointing a finger at Sherlock, "Haven't you seen the way he acts? The way he talks? The way he 'Deduces' people? That's _not_ normal for a _kid_ meaning that he's a _freak!_ "

John growled.

"Shut. Your. Trap. You know nothing of this kid, you have no right to say such things!"

Donovan squeaked, her face dark with anger.

"And _you_ know _him_ , do you?"

"Of course not," John admitted, "but you see, I do not need to know him to be able to step up to a bully."

She looked positively livid.

"You are an adult." He continued, "And you should act as one, an adult mistreating a child, is abuse, if this happens again, _I_ will _personally_ see to it that you'll never do it again."

"Is that a threat? Are you threatening a police officer"

John smiled, politely as he looked over at Sherlock's amused face, then darkened it as he turned to Donovan.

"No, it's a promise. And you Mrs. Donovan, are no police officer."

And with that finally statement, John grabbed Sherlock's hand and stalked off towards the building, leaving a shocked Donovan behind. Their destination, however was blocked again with another person, who looked like a stuck up guy. His hair slicked to the side and on his face was a scowl that John was sure was a permanent, well, mother did say if you make bad faces they will stick.

"Sherlock."

"Anderson."

"Don't contaminate the crime scene with your presence."

"I'll be sure to do just that ANderson, now please step out of the way and let us continue."

Anderson looked at their hands.

"You finally found someone that could tolerate your presence unlike your brother?"

" !"

John frowned at the man before him, were _all_ officers like this? If so, his view on the police force was badly mistaken.

TBC

A/N: Srry it was really short


End file.
